


Two Hearts and No Brain

by StrangeOccurrence



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Eddie Kaspbrak is Bad at Feelings, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Modern Era, One Shot, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Young Adult Losers Club (IT), but he's nice tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29334846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeOccurrence/pseuds/StrangeOccurrence
Summary: Richie isn’t sure what it says about him as a person that he wants his roommate to berate the living fuck out of him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Two Hearts and No Brain

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a small rework of a fic I used to have up on here, so you may have read it before. Apologies if that's the case. It used to be from both perspectives but I hated Eddie's POV lol so here's an edited version of Richie's. 
> 
> I may edit over the next few days. 
> 
> Talk to me in the comments if you want :)

Richie does not have a drug problem. Only old people have drug problems. 

“It’s called recreation when you're under thirty.” He explains.

“Abuse, Richie. It’s also called drug abuse.”

Eddie doesn’t even take paracetamol. What does he know about drugs?

That was a conversation they had earlier. Richie’s currently watching Eddie sleep. It sounds creepy, on reflection. Richie has learned this week that a lot of things he likes to do don’t sound so good when you give them titles. The importance of words is something Richie could have picked up in his first Creative Writing lecture, but he didn't. It seems most of his tertiary education so far is coming from his roommate. The one he is currently watching sleep.

He has brown hair- the sort that Richie usually finds boring. It looks black in the dark. He’s also short, which is painfully endearing, because the Lord has given him a body incapable of holding the immeasurable amount of rage he can conjure at a moment’s notice.

Richie has counted, and so far this semester Eddie has been angered by shoes (and socks), wardrobes, chair legs (?), coffee cup lids (the take-out ones), oranges, and someone named Bill.

It was a little overwhelming at first, but he’s getting used to it. If you’re paying attention you can see it coming. There’s a couple of huffy breaths which are a warning sign- it seems like you can calm him down if you distract him quickly at that point. However, the nostrils are the point of no return. Then there are a bunch of hand movements and sometimes yelling and you just have to ride it out from there. Richie hasn’t particularly been on the receiving end of any of these outbursts yet, but he’s kind of looking forward to the inevitable day when he crosses a line and Eddie knows him well enough not to hold back. And Richie knows that he does sometimes hold back. Whenever his mother calls his nostrils are flaring away and he just delivers monotonous yesses and nos until she hangs up. Then he disappears for a few hours.

Richie isn’t sure what it says about him as a person that he wants his roommate to berate the living fuck out of him. He’s also not sure how he’s retained so much menial information about him so fast. Richie has never been good at studying, and his observational skills aren’t all that bad, but they’re usually focussed on something utterly meaningless, and things like other people’s emotions don’t really penetrate.

Eddie, though- Richie has known Eddie for two weeks and it must be the quickest learn of his life. He wishes Creative Writing could be like that. His first class made him want to drop out. Or stand-up, which he loves but usually makes him vomit. It takes a while for Richie to stick to things. Richie knew within days that Eddie was going to be different.

Anyway. Eddie’s still sleeping, and Richie’s still watching him, and he can’t drop off himself because he can never sleep; and also because Eddie agreed to go to a party with him tomorrow. Richie had asked him as a joke. He wanted to see the face Eddie would make at the thought of a college party, since he sleeps before midnight and looks like the kind of guy who irons his socks.

But when Richie sidled up to him in the canteen and proposed the idea, Eddie turned to him. He had a little crease between his eyebrows that Richie hadn’t seen before, but liked a lot. They looked at each other for a few seconds, and Eddie said

“Yeah. Why not.”

“It’s in the Greek Village.”

“Okay.” Eddie said, like this was irrelevant.

“We could go together? Split the uber?”

“Sounds cool.”

Then Eddie walked away.

Richie had been sort of worried all day that Eddie was going to pull out. Usually Eddie went out during the day. He had a few hometown friends who’d started at the same time at the same school, and they studied together or something. Richie would rather die than see anyone he knew from high school again.

But today Eddie had stayed in the room. He had his phone to his ear some of the time, but he wasn’t talking into it. He just looked blank, and occasionally whipped the cell away from his face to press a button, then he put it back to his ear again. Richie had class after lunch, but he considered skipping it to watch Eddie some more. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he seemed off. He decided against being a total stalker, and went to his class. He played GTA on the back row the whole time. When he got back inside, Eddie wasn’t there.

He came back well after dark, mumbled a hello to Richie and got into bed with the same t-shirt on he’d been wearing all day- another something he didn’t usually do. He wouldn’t get under his covers in clothes he’d been outside in. Plus, he had a special pair of sandals for the room. Richie was magnanimously holding off on ribbing him about this until an opportune moment.

Eddie also changed behind his wardrobe door, which Richie didn’t actually feel like making fun of. He used to hide in a cubicle to change for gym until he was seventeen.

***

Morning arrives and Eddie is up and gone before Richie wakes up. He yawns loudly, stretching so hard he sees spots burst behind his eyes. He pats around the desk for his cell. There aren’t any texts from Eddie backing out, which puts him in a pretty good mood.

They meet in the dorm later and Eddie seems okay- more okay than yesterday, at least. He heads out again to have dinner with his friends, then he’s back to get ready for the party. He stops in the doorway when he sees Richie.

Richie's wearing his only collared shirt. It’s a floral one his dad gave him for his eighteenth birthday. It’s a little short on his body now, but he’s wearing high waisted pants so he doesn't feel too slutty.A gold wallet chain hangs from his belt. He doesn’t have a wallet so it’s hooked to his belt loop. Eddie’s eyes linger at his hip where the chain meets material. Richie blinks.

“Ready?” He says.

“Mhm.” Eddie blinks too and starts rifling through his things with his usual spiky movements. 

Eddie dresses behind his closet door. Richie turns his back anyway, and then they get their uber off campus.

They end up on a couch in the living room. Richie loses track of his friends almost immediately. Someone he thinks he recognises from class is pouring a generous serving of rum into a plastic cup. Some girls are dancing on the coffee table, but it's not really that kind of vibe yet so they mostly look uncomfortable. 

The next time Richie looks up, Eddie’s arm is reaching over him for the cup of rum.

It’s not like Richie expected him to be straight edge, but he'd pictured Eddie with a beer. Maybe a nice fruit cider. He masks his deepening surprise when Eddie is holding his arm out again in a matter of minutes for a refill. 

Their eyes meet, Eddie's arm stretched across Richie's chest. His cheeks are already tinging pink.

‘ _Uh oh_ ’. Thinks Richie. But he’s not about to be the douche who says ‘easy tiger’ on someone’s second drink. So instead he taps Eddie’s nose with his pinkie and says

“Suits you.”

“Huh?” Eddie said. The music was kind of loud. Eddie had been wincing whenever there was a sharp synth or whiny guitar. Richie leans in a little closer.

“This suits you.” He says, gesturing. He said it like a joke, because Eddie looked about as comfortable as a flounder in the desert. But Richie wasn’t talking about the party. He was talking about the blush under Eddie’s eyes, settling over his cheekbones. The looseness already slacking his posture, the smile Richie could see under the surface. That suited him down to the ground.

Eddie almost drops his cup as it’s handed back to him. He spills a little on Richie’s sneaker and his mouth forms an ‘o’ and he’s already leaning over and apologising, spilling more on the carpet as he does.

Richie just laughs. He plucks the cup out of Eddie’s hand and stands up. Eddie’s still half bent over fussing around Richie’s shoes. He looks at Richie with eyes like a puppy who got into the trash can. That makes Richie laugh more. He crams his own drink between his chest and elbow, and puts a hand out towards Eddie.

“It’s loud.” He yells, moving his mouth around the words so Eddie can understand; and he does. He nods and takes Richie’s hand. Then he grabs his drink out of his other hand and, of his own accord, heads around the couch.

“Wait up!” Richie’s saying, but Eddie’s already darted through the couples clinging to one another by the speakers. He’s looking up into the darkness of the staircase. Richie joins him at the foot of the stairs and looks at him, because now he’s really not sure what Eddie’s going for.

Eddie leans up, making Richie jump. He pulls on Richie’s shoulder to bring him closer and says loudly

“I saw a porch!”

“A what?”

“A porch. Upstairs.”

“Gotcha! Lead on, Eds.” he says. Eddie goes to, then he turns back with a frown, like he’s about to say something.

Richie spots an ice bucket and puts a finger up. He leans over and pulls out a can of something with a green label. He shrugs and tosses it at Eddie. Then he grabs another, and snatches a bottle of Malibu from the grip of a girl who already looks dead on her feet. It was only ten, but the first week of freshman year can be a doozy. Richie respects it. He also respects ‘Finders Keepers’, so he takes her bottle and slides back over towards Eddie, who’s turned now and is heading up the stairs.

They peer into a couple of bedrooms before they find the porch. Eddie scrapes his way through the sliding door and deposits all his drinks on a side table while Richie’s settling himself on the floor in front of an ottoman. It’s a nice porch. There’s mosquito netting and some fancy hanging lights. It’s cold out, but there’s a space heater burning in the corner and a blanket which Eddie drags towards them.

Then, he’s plopping himself down ahead of Richie, popping the tab of his green can of whatever, and scooting back against him until his back is flush against Richie’s chest.

For the second time this evening, Richie thinks ‘ _uh oh_ ’.

Here is the thing about Richie. He’s not one to analyse his feelings. They usually come and go hard and fast, so it would be a waste of his shoddy attention span to obsess over every little thought. However, the way his arms prickle when Eddie plants himself between his legs takes him completely by surprise. He's never really felt it before. It's like electricity weaving over his skin and down into his guts. Everywhere Eddie's touching him is on fire.

Here’s another thing about Richie. He has a superhuman skill for involving himself with straight guys. He doesn’t even mean to most of the time. He has a theory that his hair has magical properties which attract them. It doesn’t upset him, really. It’s not like he’s wasting his time pining after anyone.

But as is becoming clearer with every waking moment, Eddie is in a class of his own. 

He stays pretty still, because he’s discovered in the last few moments that the last thing he wants on this Earth is for Eddie to move. Gingerly, he rests a hand at Eddie’s hip, balancing his cup near his shoulder. Eddie’s talking about engineering… Richie's pretty sure he takes business.

Richie can imagine Eddie in a nice little tailored suit. In New York, maybe. Or Chicago. He closes his eyes and drops his head against the ottoman. Eddie keeps talking. 

Some time later, there's a pause. Richie looks up to find Eddie knocking back the Malibu. 

He thinks about not being a douche again, but then he considers Eddie’s body mass, and the fact that he doesn’t normally drink, and that he was a little weird yesterday; and then Richie leans forwards and grabs the bottle from his hand.

“My turn.” He says softly when Eddie cranes around looking scandalised. He takes a deep sip just to make a point of it. Eddie watches him mouth settling into that ‘o’ shape again. Richie closes his eyes, because that’s quite enough of that.

He swallows and feels around for the Malibu cap. Eddie tries to kick it away, which makes Richie laugh again. Eddie’s funny, he decides. He gets his fingers around the cap. His arms are longer than Eddie’s, and Eddie’s not really trying very hard to fight him. He's mainly just getting his hands around his biceps and holding them there.

He screws the cap on and then rolls the bottle as far as he can. It clanks against something under the loveseat and they both wince, but it doesn’t sound like it actually broke. Then Eddie’s looking into the middle distance, turned around so his side is pressing into Richie’s chest and his legs are both thrown over Richie’s left thigh.

“You okay?” Richie says. He brushes a hand gently over Eddie’s upper back. That’s what his mom used to do when he felt sick. Eddie was looking pretty sick. His face scrunched and then he closed his eyes.

“I think-“ Richie pushed his shoulder gently; then again when Eddie didn’t budge. “I think it’s time to go.”

They walk half way back. Richie thought the fresh air would help, but after fifteen minutes Eddie'swalking in circles and humming the same four notes over and over, so they call another Uber.

He makes it all the way upstairs before he ducks into the bathrooms to empty his stomach. Richie feels quietly proud of him for making it that far. Eddie’s hair isn’t that long, so he doesn’t really have an excuse to brush it back, but he does a couple of times anyway. He doesn’t think Eddie notices. It’s soft, and thick, with traces of the wax he runs through it when he showers. Richie can smell it on his fingers later; which is another thing he supposes he should keep to himself.

When Eddie looks like he’s falling asleep on the toilet bowl, Richie hoists him up by the armpits and forces him to wash his mouth out with water. Eddie won’t take the mouthwash- he’s mumbling something about cyanide. Richie decides to pick his battles, so he gives in and takes Eddie to their room, arm looped around his back.

He looks so peaceful almost as soon as he hits the pillow. Richie has made sure he took his shoesand jeans off.

“You’re gonna have to suffer through with your outside shirt, bud.” Richie muttered, unwilling to fully change the guy when he could barely walk.

Eddie’s eyes open as Richie’s patting the comforter over his chest.

“You good?” Richie says. Eddie nods. He’s not smiling, but he looks.. serene in a way. “Goodnight Eds. Sorry for corrupting you.” He said with a small smile. Eddie scrunched his nose, which made Richie smile wider. He quickly turned away and climbed into his own bed. Drunk or not, he couldn’t have Eddie seeing him smile tenderly or whatever the fuck that was. Not that he’d remember this tomorrow or anything.

He didn’t watch Eddie this time, but he did think about him. He thought about him right up until he fell asleep.

***

After that night, he didn’t see Eddie for a week. Well, except for twenty minutes in the morning while Eddie sat scowling at his cell. He softened a little when Richie brought him some snacks from the canteen, but when Richie came back from his shower, Eddie was gone. The juice and muffin were untouched, and he didn’t come back until the following Monday.

This is one of those times when Richie sort of wish he had actual friends, not just the group from the comedy club. He feels like if he told them about an actual dilemma they’d scoff at him for having feelings and then write a shitty set about it. That’s what Richie would do anyway.

He’s not sure what’s happening to him. He keeps looking at the clock when it reaches about five-thirty. If Eddie was coming, he would usually be in by some reasonable time like that. The canteen closes at nine, so sometimes Richie hangs around for an hour after dinner on the chance of catching him there.

But in the end, he’s fiddling around on his cousin’s Minecraft server digging swearwords into the dirt when Eddie comes through the door. After just over seven days, Richie had almost given up on him. He’d started to convince himself that he was a figment of his imagination all along. Soon all of Eddie’s neatly placed items would disappear one by one and Richie could officially check himself into a facility to live in peace.

“Sorry.” Eddie says. Richie must admit, he sounds a little bashful. So this is weird. Richie’s not a total mutant?

“Don’t sweat, Daddy-o.” Richie says. He figures that’s a kind response for a straight guy who feels awkward about being kinda gay-while-drunk. He tosses up saying ‘it happens’, or ‘it’s no biggie’, but that maybe suggests something more overt than what actually happened. Which is nothing. He’s still thinking about it when Eddie speaks up again.

“You don’t mind?” He says. He’s hanging on the door handle a little, still in his outdoor sneakers.

“Mind?” He stops digging in the sand by his cousin’s castle and hits mute on the music. He gives Eddie what he hopes is an indifferent look. “Why would I mind?”

“Yeah, no, exactly.” Eddie says, sounding relieved. “Cool.”

Richie gives himself a talking to that evening. He waits until it’s late, and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair’s greasy. He hasn’t been showering. He moves it out of his eyes impatiently.

He points at himself threateningly.

"You do not get crushes.” He whispers. "Richie Tozier you are not in middle school, you do not get crushes. " He glares at himself. 

"He is neurotic!" he adds. "And he would never fucking want you." 

He sighs and pulls his hoodie around him as he heads back to their room. Eddie’s already asleep.

Richie kicks his shoes off. Okay. Maybe it’s a little hypocritical for him to judge Eddie’s reactions when, as far as Richie’s aware, Eddie’s not the one mooning around waiting for a marriage proposal or something.

Is Richie the type to get married? He flops into bed then freezes, not wanting to wake Eddie. He keeps snoring gently.

Richie had never thought about marriage before for fuck’s sake. 

It doesn’t matter. He’s not marrying _Eddie_ , that’s for sure.

***

Richie is convinced he’s over his little… thing with Eddie. It’s been a couple of weeks since that night at the party. They hang out sometimes in the kitchen, or for dinner at the canteen. Richie’s briefly met some of Eddie’s friends from home. The guy- he’s seen him around before they officially meet- Bill. He’s a little annoying. He seems a little full of himself, but Eddie speaks well of him, so Richie plays nice. Beverly, though, Richie takes to at once. She’s sharp. She teases Eddie, but he can see her watching him as she does. She knows just where to push and where to stop.

Richie was never good at that. He had a thing or two he’d like to learn from Beverley Marsh.

They’ve also had their first couple of little spats. Nothing of Eddie-Rage proportions, disappointingly, but a few stern words about the friends Richie brings back. More than one note left on the desk in the morning after Richie hotboxed their dorm.

‘VERY IRRESPONSIBLE !!! SOMEONE COULD CALL SECURITY.

PLUS BAD FOR MY LUNGS YOU KNOW THIS!!!!! INCONSIDERATE!

Eddie.’

Richie stared for an embarrassing amount of time at the little flourish where he signed his name.

He still has the note pinned to the back of his wardrobe. It’s safe there. Eddie won’t touch his wardrobe with a barge pole.

These were good exercises, too, because they taught Richie that Eddie is very receptive to apology gifts. Edible ones go down alright, but when Richie left a small stuffed turtle on his pillow it changed the game.

It was risky for a bro move, he’d admit. But Eddie doesn’t seem like a bro-ish sort of straight guy anyway. See: ironed socks.

Eddie didn’t say much about it at first. Richie fled as soon as he placed it, and was as hiding out in the common area all afternoon getting increasingly nervous that Eddie would disappear again.Eddie came to find him at six, though. He had a flushed tinge to his face and he was chirpy all evening. When they got back to the room after dinner, Eddie held up the turtle. 

“Forgive me?” Richie says.

“You gonna put my health at risk again?” Eddie says. 

“Drama queen.” Richie says.

“It’s sweet.” Eddie says. He makes the turtle wave.

“You’re sweet.” Richie says. He can’t help it. It’s true. He waves at the turtle. Eddie gives him a little look, halfway disapproving, halfway eye-roll.

It’s not bad. But it's not a love confession or anything. Richie figures that if a stuffed turtle doesn’t win a guy over, then Richie can take a hint. His expectations are thoroughly managed. He thinks about downloading Tinder or something, but whenever he sees the app on his home screen, he gets a weird itchy feeling and deletes it.

***

“Celebrating?” Eddie says. Richie is in the common room struggling with the wire cap of a champagne bottle. He hands it off to Eddie, and he makes surprisingly quick work of removing the cap and popping the cork. Richie clears his throat as Eddie hands the bottle back, foam spilling down over their hands as they're briefly clutching the bottle at the same time. 

“My dad left my mom.” Richie says. 

“Uh,” Eddie is reaching for a napkin. His face seems like it's not sure what to do with that information. He wipes his fingers down one by one, meticulously.

“It’s a good thing.” Richie says hurriedly. He ducks to lick at the sticky foam running up his arm. Eddie scowls at him. He doesn't say anything else about Richie’s parents.

“Have a glass with your ol’ pal?” Richie says loudly. Eddie shrugs, which Richie takes as a hearty yes.“Are you sure you can handle this?” he says once he's grabbed some glasses from his cubby.

“It’s not dignified, that’s for sure.” Eddie mutters. He takes the glass all the same and allows Richie to pour it half full.

They finish the bottle together as the sun disappears from the window. They play checkers across one of the grungy tables. A few others from their floor float in and out. And then when there's no Champagne left, Richie mentions the old bottle of Red he has under his mattress. It's a passing comment more than an offer, but Eddie tips his head and it makes Richie stop in his tracks; his finger grazing the edge of his checker piece.

"Yeah?" he says. Eddie shrugs a shoulder.

"One more can't hurt." 

An hour later and they're finishing off the wine as well. Eddie accepts it even with the knowledge that it's been living- for a full semester- crammed next to Richie’s dirty laundry. They start with a modest amount in their old glasses. And when it seems like Eddie's not having anymore, Richie reverts to drinking from the bottle. It's nowhere near as nice as the champagne, which had at least been cool. Richie isn't picky, but he does not understand how people deliberately drink red wine at room temperature. His dad would call him a heathen if he ever caught him doing so, but Richie would have ice in all his drinks if he could. 

Eddie's next to him on his bunk. They're watching Bob's Burgers on Richie's laptop, and Richie is in the middle of a fairly impressive Gene impression when the weight of the bottle slips off his arm. He looks over and Eddie is swigging straight from the neck, eyes fixed on the computer screen. Richie's brain needs a moment to re-boot. He watches Eddie's throat as he swallows, then absently hands the bottle back. Richie takes it after a beat, his silver ring clicking against the glass. He's seen Eddie gag at the _idea_ of backwash before. Between this and the mild reaction to the dirty-laundry-storage, Richie is beginning to wonder if Eddie is doing okay. 

He opens his mouth to try and put some of that into words. He's buzzed enough that the words are a little slow. Eddie looks over before he gets them together, and he has a little half smile on that Richie hasn't seen before, and then his eyes are shifting from Richie’s down his face, and Richie's heart fully stopps in his chest. Eddie has his bottom lip between his teeth- only slightly, but Richie can see the dip at the corner of his mouth. He's biting his lip and his eyes are on Richie’s mouth and they kind of just shared spit, which with any other person would not have been such a big deal, but-

“Eddie.” Richie says, cutting himself off. No inane bullshit swirling through his mind would ever be as important as what's going on with Eddie right now. And then Eddie has a hand against Richie’s cheek. It's delicate at first, his pinkie tracing the line of his jaw. Richie’s lips part, but he has no words queued. Nothing at all. He's watching Eddie’s eyes as they trace his face.

And then Eddie kisses him.

Suddenly Richie’s whole world smells like Eddie’s hair wax, and his chalky chapstick. A hand slipps onto his shoulder, and the warmth of it is dizzying. Eddie’s legs are still crossed, so they're sort of in the way, and Richie is leaning sideways like his life depends on it. He shifts and lets his arm drape around Eddie’s neck, his fingers grasp at the short V of hair at the base of Eddie’s head. He pulls tight, but not hard. Eddie's breathing fast. Richie can feel his chest rise and fall, and the breath rush fast over his skin.

Richie pulls back. Eddie’s cheeks are pink. Not wine pink, but blush pink. Richie’s mouth is agape again, but he's only distantly aware of it. Then he shifts again, getting up until he's kneeling by Eddie. His heel almost sends the laptop flying. He turns to it impatiently and slams it shut, then he tosses it onto the desk where it slams into the lamp. Eddie squeaks something about the price of insuring electronics, but he's quickly quieted when Richie throws a leg over his hip and sits himself in Eddie's lap.

“You’re pretty.” Richie says, before ducking close to him again. It's like letting out a long breath. “Like, really.” He says against his lips. Eddie makes a sound Richie will have to erase from his brain later to prevent internal bleeding.

Eddie let Richie wrap his arms around his neck agin, holding him. It's closer this time. And Richie, for the first time in his life, feels the insane urge to be gentle. It's an alarm bell. _Be careful with him!_ So he is.

Eddie’s hands are at Richie’s sides, one clasping at his shirt over his ribs. It's so much more than anything Richie would have expected- if he'd allowed himself to do things like expect. And he couldn't. He really couldn't afford to.

"Can we-" Eddie pulls back a little, head tapping against the wall. Richie's fingers brush over the spot, flattening his hair down. Eddie looks up at him. His eyes wide.

“Stop?” Richie sits back at once. “We can stop.”

“Yeah. It’s not-“

“I get it.” Richie says easily. He makes to get up.

“Wait.” Eddie catches his hand. He laces their fingers together. Richie’s head is in a lot of different places at once. “We could..” He nods towards the bed. Richie stares at him. “Just, like, lay? Is that dumb?” Eddie says

Richie's brain clicks over and he shakes his head. He smiles. 

"I was needing a lie down, don't ya know? Eight o'clock is past my bedtime, anyways, Spaghetti." He says in a strange pirate-like drawl. Eddie's biting his lower lip into his mouth, cheeks still flushed. Hair a little tousled. 

Richie turns briskly and goes over to his closet. He changes into his only clean t-shirt. Then he climbs back onto the bunk next to Eddie. The atmosphere has deflated in a way Richie can't place. Eddie isn't looking directly at him any more. 

“You wanna get under the-“ Richie grabs at the duvet. He tries not to let the sudden pressure in his chest squeeze his voice. 

“Can we just stay on top?” Eddie says quietly.

“‘Course.” Richie lies next to him on his back, as still as he can. They lay for a while like that, their breaths slowing to a reasonable pace. Some time later, after Richie has closed his eyes, he feels a weight over his chest. He cracks an eye open. Eddie is laying a hand flat near his collarbone. Richie turns his head a little.

“Hey.” He says. 

“Hi.” Eddie whispers. “You are, too. Pretty.”

Richie turns his body some more until he's on his side, and rests his arm over the dip of Eddie’s waist. He lets out a slow breath and closes his eyes again. He's not about to let on how close he suddenly feels to crying. 

"Cheers." he says. He doesn't bother with the English accent, but Eddie probably gets the idea. 

Save a few movements here and there, that's how they fall asleep. Eddie’s arm is a deadweight over Richie’s chest, his hand pressed warm against his neck.

That’s how Richie wakes up, too. It's still dark out. He can't reach his phone, but it's quiet in the quad outside. Probably four or five am.Richie realises, as soon as the evening floods back over him, that he’s in trouble now. Eddie’s going to wake up stone sober, and Richie’s going to have a much harder time forgetting about him this time, because now he knows what it feels like to be so close. Way, way too close. He should have been smarter. Like those spies who carry around cyanide vials in case they get caught. Take the pill and go out with dignity.Richie gave it all up to his curious straight roommate like an idiot. That's torture enough, surely. 

And he's right. The next morning Eddie’s gone again. It’s these things which make Richie go a little off the rails.

He keeps it together for a few days after. Like he expected, Eddie goes back to normal, like the most world shattering event of his life didn’t take place in between now and then. He was a little more skittish than usual, but nothing indicating ‘world shattering’. Not at all. Just Richie.

He finds it hard when Eddie’s in the room. Usually they can sit together in silence for ages, no problem. Now, whenever the door clicks, Richie feels his whole body tense. He can’t make his eyes move on his screen. He can’t write any of his papers. He becomes a lump. A long and stringy lump. This makes him kind of hate himself.

It’s finals week when he decides he is tired of sitting around being a lump. If he’s going to be a lump, he’s going to be a fucked up lump outside the confines of his room. When he looks back on it, he’ll recognise that he goes a little AWOL.

He’ll also recognise that it may be better that he stayed AWOL, because when he comes back to the room, he causes Eddie all number of annoyances. He tries not to think about it. He can’t really remember, actually, the one which made Eddie get really mad at him for the first time. He snorted something that his friend from class gave him. He didn’t even like those motherfuckers that much, but apparently they were stocked up. Richie couldn’t move until well into the next morning when Eddie’s shouting ‘he pissed in the closet! All over your clothes, Richie. Get up you piece of shit you’re cleaning this up _right_ now or I’m reporting you all to the fucking RA.’

And it’s sort of a shame that it’s under these circumstances that Eddie first really loses it at Richie, because Richie can just about hear him through the dull thumping of his pulse in his head. But it’s also not, because as much as Richie loves it when Eddie’s nostrils flare, and his arms start waving around, he actually does not want Eddie to be that upset. He knows that now.

He says sorry nicely. As nicely as he can with the heavy slur still lacing his tongue. He feels like there’s a compressor rammed down his throat. Eddie’s furious face is drifting in and out of focus over him.

‘Sober the fuck up asshole.’ Eddie said, tossing a water bottle at his chest. It hurts, but Richie’s okay with it. The next thing he knows the door is closing and Eddie’s gone.

He doesn’t buy him any gifts this time, and eventually they move on.

He tries harder after that not to get in Eddie’s way, which is embarrassing because this actually seems to cause have more issues than usual.

His friend from the comedy club needs some stupid prop for the improv show one night, and Richie tries to open the window to throw it down to him. Eddie flips over in bed with a groan and says

‘Rich they don’t open like that, remember-“

But it’s too late. The glass shatters as Richie forces the sash in the wrong direction for the thirteenth time.

“It’s okay.” Eddie says calmly. This makes Richie feel worse than when he yelled.

***

One night after winter break, Eddie hasn't been to the room for a day or so. Richie can't concentrate on his work. His eyes keep flicking over to Eddie’s bed. It's almost hypnotic.

Most of the time, Richie doesn't feel the emotion known as ‘sadness’. His head moves too fast for that. His emotional range usually swings from ‘energiser bunny’ to ‘sludge of despair’. Today though, he feels something he suspects might be close to sad. It's a slow feeling. Restless. It builds in his chest and presses at the insides of his ribs. He puts a hand over his stomach and let himself feel it for a second. He doesn't like it.

Without thinking too hard, he gets up and takes the five steps across the room. He sits himself carefully on the edge of Eddie’s bed. It's where the sadness wants him to be. It smells like Eddie. His deodorant, mainly, but also the slighter scent underneath. Sort of like wood. Sawdust. Richie scratches the back of his head and looks to the door. Then, he drops his head down onto Eddie’s pillow.

The next time he opened his eyes, Eddie is in the doorway. Still halfway in a dream state, Richie puts a hand out and says

“Hi, baby.”

Richie’s theory is that if everyone thinks he’s joking about everything all the time, then he’s safe from being taken seriously at any time. It’s an age old trick and it’s worked for most of his life. It works particularly well with Eddie, because he gets to say everything he wants to say to him all the time, but as jokes! Genius, in his opinion.

So, when he calls Eddie ‘baby’, it’s not a joke. Not really. It’s just what he wants to say. And usually Eddie handles that sort of thing with an eye roll. But this time he’s just standing there in the middle of the carpet. Richie’s brain started to fire as he came to. He wonders, distantly, if making out with a guy then months of awkwardness might alter how the things you say come across. Context isn’t usually Richie’s thing.

Eddie’s in the middle of the room, still. Just standing.

“You okay?” Richie says. He props himself up on his elbow.

“Yeah.” Eddie says. His voice is weird. Richie sits up a little. He squints into the dark at Eddie, motionless.

“You want me to move?” He says, realising he’s in the guy’s bed. Sleeping. Without permission. Like a serial killer.

“No.” Eddie said. “Stay there. I’ll go-“

“Wait, Eds.” Richie’s starting to panic. “I’ll just move.” He was cycling through excuses in his head. “I just thought-“ nothing was coming to him. Richie did weird stuff all the time. He could just say he was high. Or the sun got in his eyes. Or he could even say he liked the smell of Eddie’s pillow; he wouldn’t take him seriously anyway. But Eddie’s looking at him, his profile is bathed in moonlight, and Richie doesn’t want to tell the truth anymore. Not when he knows it’s the same as telling a lie.

He gets up and hovers behind Eddie awkwardly. He feels around for a way to recover things.

“It would be weird anyway after I shared a bed with your mother for so many years.” He says.

Eddie doesn’t laugh, which isn't surprising. But he doesn’t do any of the other things he did instead of laughing either. No nudge, eye roll, adorable frown. Richie gives up. He’s about to scoot over to the other side of the room and Eddie whips around to face him.

“Oh.” Richie says on reflex. “Hi.”

“Richie.” Eddie says softly. Richie tries to stand casually. He tries to breathe normally, and not like a freaky jet engine.

Eddie’s looking up at him, and Richie’s having vivid flashbacks to the feeling of Eddie’s hands pressed to his chest, his fingers at the hem of his t-shirt.

“All good?” Richie asks breathlessly. Eddie lets out a breath and then the moment bursts. His hand drops from Richie’s arm and he turns back to the dest.

“Yeah. Stay on your side of the room.” He says.

“Yeah.” Richie says, feeling like his stomach is falling through his ass. “Night Eds.” he says, crossing over to his bed.

Eddie changes behind his cabinet, shuffles some of his things around. Richie can’t watch. He turns over in bed and closes his eyes. The room is silent for a while, and Eddie’s voice breaks it with a soft ‘Sleep well’.

“You, too.” Richie says.

Eddie doesn’t say goodbye when he goes back home for the weekend. Richie’s not proud, but he checks Eddie’s wardrobe, and the little turtle is sitting sadly in the empty shoe cubby- just like it had all Christmas. Richie checked then, too. 

Richie doesn’t get out of bed for the next three days. 

***

The spring semester doesn’t stay awful forever. Eddie blows hot and cold. Sometimes he leans against Richie in the dark when they watch a movie, and then the next day he’s dragging him into the freezing rain to chew his ear off over embarrassing him in front of his friends. Richie still isn’t sure what exactly that was about. Sometimes he thinks his very presence embarrasses Eddie. Other times he figures Eddie just liked to be mad. He still promises not to do it again, whatever it was. They only have one more semester and they can move out. Richie can get over the creepy obsession he’d been nursing since they got there. Maybe he could even fix his GPA, which took a significant hit since Eddie stopped talking to him before Christmas.

Nonetheless, Richie feels like he’s getting the hang of things. Not that it’s ideal, but he can sort of manage now. They laugh together again, between outbursts. Richie is also going for long walks. He thinks it might be helping his ‘mental space’. His mother would like to say that. Not that she’s talking to him after Went… Whatever.

Richie flushes the toilet one morning. It’s almost March, and it’s still freezing out, but the sun has been pouring more convincingly through the clouds. He looks around the stall absently. He does a lot of his thinking in these bathrooms. He’s still considering how much more awkward his birthday is going to be compared to Christmas with just his dad. Then there's a noise from the sinks. He stops in his tracks.

He hadn’t registered anyone come in, but there was Eddie Kaspbrak.

A lot of Richie’s lofty ideas about fortitude and Getting-Over-Eddie crumble slightly in the face of the man himself. He almost doesn't notice how Eddie looks like he's mid-speech in the mirror. ‘I do that!’ Richie thinks.

Eddie's already frowning at him, which is delightful. 

Oh dear. Richie's gonna need another few long walks to get back to where he was this morning. Richie smiles at him. What else is there to do in these dire times but lean into disaster?

“Hey li'l angel.” He says, because yeah. That fits. Eddie has a cream polo on, and a black and white pair of brogues. His backpack is hanging off his shoulder and his jeans somehow look pressed. “Light of Block D Dormitories North Campus.”

Eddie looks incensed. Richie beams.

“Look!” Eddie says. “I haven't done any of this and I don't want to have it be all bullshit and meaningless just because you're- I mean- Wait let me start over. I was thinking- No, hold on-“

Richie’s brain fires a few blanks. He tries to find his footing, but nope, he has no idea what that was supposed to mean.

“Shut up!” Eddie says before Richie is even processing coherent thoughts. He holds up his hands in genuine surrender. He's pretty sure he's about to get yelled at again. But what's life about if not for a little conflict. Cute, cute, cute conflict.

Richie goes to the sinks for a better view of the action.

“I didn’t mean to be weird.” Eddie says, which genuinely takes Richie by surprise. Eddie was good at that. A tiny box of rage, medical facts and surprises. “And we should have talked about what we were going for-”

Richie raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh. Is this a serious... are we doing a _talk_ right now?” He says. Eddie glares at him, which he interprets as a yes. He straightens himself a little. "Okay." he says because yeah, fair enough. Maybe Richie should have done this sooner. He could have asked Eddie about his boundaries. He wasn’t good at talking about that stuff. “Whatever you want, man. You never have to do anything you don't want to do. I can chill.”

“What?” Eddie says. “Stop. Look. It wasn’t that I didn’t _want_ to, you know, it’s just- I don’t think I want my first- uh- you know- I just don’t wanna get involved with someone I’m so into when they’re not gonna feel the same- you know?”

Richie’s staring at him. He’s staring, because he can’t have heard that right…

“Say again, spaghetti-man?” Richie says. It's better to be safe than sorry in times like this. 

“I was embarrassed.” Eddie says. “It’s dumb falling all over someone like that. I never really had anything like this in high-school. You know, as practice or whatever, so it was sort of my first, uh-”

Richie laughs. Eddie’s lucky he only laughs. Richie wants to fucking scream. Richie wants to place a bet. Several bets! This must be the luckiest day of his life. 

“You’re laughing.” Eddie sounds nonplussed.

“Eddie!” Richie can’t restrain himself. He grabs Eddie’s shoulders and shakes him a little. Then he realises that’s weird and lets go. For something to do, he buries his face in his hands. Someone should have warned Eddie it’s unprecedented for Richie to feel concentrated joy. He’s not actually sure how to handle it. He peeks at Eddie again. “ _You_ falling all over _me_? Is that what you’re saying?” He’s still laughing. Eddie looks a little put out now.

“Yeah. It was blatant. I’m sorry.“

“Blatant!” Richie cries. Eddie winces, and then his face is moving towards that familiar scowl and Richie is laughing again. “Hold on. You’re telling me you think you were being _obvious_?”

“Well, yeah.” Eddie says, frown settling indignantly over his face. “I kissed you.”

“Oh my god.” Richie says. "Were you made in a lab or something? Are you from outer space?"  
  
“You don’t have to be a dick about it. I’m saying sorry.”

“Okay, okay. So you fell _all over me_ like a sad little princess-“

“Richie.”

“-And _I_ was never interested in you?”

"I don't know, dude, I figured you wanted to hook up or whatever but-“

“Doctor, it’s bad.” Richie’s doing another voice. He’s talking into his collar. “He’s delusional. Potential head trauma, if not serious evidence of psychosis-”

“I think only police have those microphone thingies.” Eddie’s still frowning, and Richie’s going to explode. “Doctors have pagers-“

Richie steps up close to him. Eddie’s eyes go very wide, and Richie wishes he could bottle this feeling and sell it. He’d be a billion-trillionaire But he’d never do that. This was his. This was a feeling no one else on earth got to have.

“Idiot.” Richie says, because that about sums all this up. He steps forward, and he’s hesitant when he skates a hand up to Eddie’s neck. He realises, all at once, that he’s nervous. The joy is still there, blinding in the white of the bathroom, but a bundle of nerves are crawling in his chest. Writhing like snakes. 

Richie doesn’t like feeling nervous, so he ignores it. When Eddie doesn’t shake him off, he cups Eddie’s entire throat with his hand, his palm settling comfortably at the base of his neck. Eddie watches him like a deer in the headlights. He can feel his pulse racing under his fingertips and on the edge of his thumb. Eddie’s probably scared, too, Richie thinks. It literally hadn’t occurred to him before.

Richie moves his hand, but he keeps it close to Eddie’s neck, brushes his fingers in his hair.

“Shall I, this time?” He says. Eddie nods, and while Richie kisses him, he thinks ‘ _I’m going to marry you_.’

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first work in the fandom and I've definitely settled way more into writing Richie. Idk why! I'm not really like him. Anyways! Thanks for reading :)


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